Routine
by barricadeboyznthehood
Summary: Mike Warren makes his bed and gets and unexpected visitor in the morning. [Based on the gratiutious showing of Mike Warren's (Aaron Tveit's) boxer brief ass.


Mike's, actually Donny's as Lauren constantly reminded him, alarm clock bellowed out a mellow So-Cal track to wake him up at six in the morning. It sounded something Beach House related, which Mike thought ironic in all circumstances and he let out a muffled laugh.

His face was pressed into the coolness of the pillow but he still felt unbearably hot in this unusual weather. The southern California weather really messed with his system and Mike was worried that he'd get sick easily with the hot days and cool desert nights.

Mike wasn't naturally a morning person as most people would expect, he worked at it. Like all things he did, he was a quick learner and it appeared that it came naturally to him. With awkward finesse, he rolled out of bed, only his gray boxer-briefs that he once claimed helped him be more agile. Then again, Mike needed excuse for people in high school and those in the FBI not to make fun of him and his underwear choices. He also liked to pretend he was Spiderman when he was little and would run around in his underwear and pretend to shoot web out of his hands.

Another thing that was a learned behavior was how he made his bed. Mike was grateful that this bed only had thin layers of sheets and a multi-colored comforter unlike his bed at home that consisted of too many layers of suffocating fabric.

Pull this part tight, fold it over like the ends of a present, tuck it under the mattress, and smooth this part out, no wrinkles Michael. Mike heard his Mother's soft voice giving him careful reminders about the intricacies of making a bed. I know you think it's not important Michael, but your room and your bed say a lot about a person. A neat bed means a good night's sleep; maybe you won't be so restless then.

When he was little he had nightmares, nightmares that included being locked in a room with no windows, being stranded at the highest point of a building with no railings, being provoked into a fight he didn't want to participate in. Mike learned, like he always did, to keep the nightmares away.

His solution? He woke up ungodly early, he went running, he tried to be productive. He wanted to be in top physical position and Johnny's constant reminder of his own physicality made Mike a little self-conscious. Here in California a shirt for men and a bathing suit top requirement for women seemed like the daily choice for clothing or lack thereof. It wasn't like in the East coast where you could wear shorts, boating shoes, and polo and then maybe take your shirt off if you went swimming. Some people fake tanned and you could always tell who did among the pasty skin of the Atlantic swimmers. Everyone was naturally tan and Mike wasn't so sure this is something he wanted to learn quickly on because that would mean burning, peeling and painful nights of healing.

Mike pulled tight at the ends, tucking them under the low-seated mattress. He went over to the other side, stretching over the bed to grab at the ends of the comforter and pull it tight in one quick motion. Mike was nothing if not quick and efficient. As he was stretching over the bed trying to smooth things out he heard someone clear their throat.

Mike turned around to see Charlie, her dark hair a mess even more than usual and her teasing eyes hidden behind black plastic frames.

"Rough night?" Mike asked, suddenly realizing he was left only his underwear in front of Charlie, a woman who was so much his superior and probably would tell this story on later to Johnny who would tease him mercilessly. Though, there was a doubt that Charlie wouldn't tell anyone.

The young Agent still tried to cover himself up by walking with his backside facing to the window as he moved to the other side of the room where his luggage lay. He bent down as delicately as he could and he was thankful for the dim darkness of the room, the morning sun peeking out beneath clouds.

If Charlie noticed his ass, she wasn't making any verbal recognition that she had seen it and in fact approved of it. Mike was somehow affronted and grateful at the same time that she didn't say anything.

"You don't know the half of it." Charlie joked, her voice groggy and rough with remnants of alcohol she didn't particularly like.

"I probably don't." Mike said softly in a tone that suggested no teasing. He knew he didn't know the half of it, he supposed some missions might be different for the girls, which he thought wasn't fair or right. He wondered if that ever bothered Charlie, Lauren, or Paige.

As he tried to search for his royal blue board shorts, Charlie moved closer, her sequined dress making a whooshing noise against her tan legs. She sat down on the edge of his bed and he inwardly cringed at the wrinkles she was making. He tried not to let it bother him.

He gave an exasperated sigh as he realized he couldn't find his shorts. Shit, she probably thinks that… he let his thoughts trail off.

Charlie patted the bed, "Come here." She chucked lightly, clearing her throat once more to speak a little louder than her hushed voice.

Mike obeyed, walking slowly and self-consciously over to edge of the bed. He made sure any part of his body wasn't touching Charlie. He didn't want an awkward situation, well, a more awkward situation.

"Did you get the guy?" He asked hesitantly, pausing to look over at her with pale blue questioning eyes.

"Not yet," She pursed her lips at this, seeming disappointed with herself, "You think three Jaeger shots in I would have gotten something outta him." She gave a hollow laugh.

"You'll get him." Mike said reassuring her, placing his hands at the apex of his thighs and trying to hide his bulge. This didn't seem to bother Charlie. She was looking into his eyes, at least that's what Mike thought, not his body.

Charlie just gave a small hmm of approval before she looked around the room, "Still haven't moved some of your stuff in?"

Mike shrugged.

"Lauren." They both said quietly at the same time.

"I don't want to intrude." Mike said softly.

"You're not intruding; we were all new agents once upon a time." Charlie reassured him, her hand now placed on his bare thigh. They were both reminded of their first proper talk, Charlie's hand on his jean clad leg and her with the bare legs covered by the silk bathrobe.

"Will Donny come back?" He asked hesitantly.

"Maybe," Charlie told him honestly with a shrug of her slim shoulders, "Or he may be reassigned or his and Lauren's case will be terminated."

"All that work though..." Mike trailed off, looking worried that he had upset the balance even more and by default was responsible for Donny's failure.

"It is what it is." Charlie said, her thumb now running across the agent's skin in a comforting.

Mike swallowed thickly, his eyes now averting Charlie's as he felt restlessness in his stomach. "Right," He cleared his throat, "L-look, I should probably get running. I need to look like a true Californian." He said with a slight laugh that Charlie didn't return.

She took off her sunglasses, pushing them up like a headband. "Running?" She raised an eyebrow, "This early?" She paused, "Jesus Christ, Mike. Are you real?" She chuckled and looked him in the eyes.

"I guess so?" Mike said in a half-questioning tone himself, "I'm so white." He chuckled softly, embarrassed. "Everyone's so tan."

Charlie gestured to herself, her hands now free from his body, "This tan, is au natural. I can thank my Italian heritage for that, you however…"She let her eyes trail down in body in what she thought was an appropriate moment, "You have some work to do, kid. Maybe Johnny can help you out with that?"

Mike pursed his lips in thought, "Maybe, I dunno, I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard to fit in."

"You'll do fine." Charlie reassured him once more. She patted his thigh once more, trying not to let her hand wander, "Come on, you go running and I'll go get some Advil." She chuckled and smiled fondly at him as he stood up from the bed and smoothed out the fissures of fabric they both created.

The sun was coming up through the wide windows and Charlie kept her sunglasses away from her face. She squinted and inwardly groaned, but she wanted to remember this moment, the quiet moments of routine, of unexpected conversations, of reassurance and vulnerability. She hoped Mike wouldn't try too hard, he was eager, patient and dedicated, but that didn't mean he had to change himself. Every time she looked at him and she felt his curious and calculating eyes on her, she thought, how are you real?

Charlie walked down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as she could, as she walked into the kitchen and took some Advil that was probably the only communal thing in the cabinet. As she looked out the huge windows in the living room, she saw a blur of blue shirt, black shorts, and a determined expression. "How are you real?" She murmured to herself as she popped an Advil and washed it down with water. She hoped she wasn't dreaming.


End file.
